


warmth

by Petr1chor



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Cuddles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Injury, Multi, Panic Attacks, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Quarantine, Self-Esteem Issues, online univesity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:27:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petr1chor/pseuds/Petr1chor
Summary: Bossuet has a bad day and his partners look after himft. pillow forts
Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Online school has hit me hard. This is how i cope

Bossuet inhaled deeply and reached out for the mug that was drying on the rack. It was one from last Christmas when Grantaire had printed little designs he’d made of them on mugs. His hands were shaking.

It had been a difficult day. All he had to do now, he told himself, was make some coffee and go sit on the couch. _You’ve already got the mug, too,_ he thought, trying as hard as he could to be gentle with himself.

It wasn’t easy, not after he had spent the day being reminded of his worst insecurities. A voice in his head that sounded awfully similar to Jehan said that he had inherent worth separate from his achievements, or lack thereof. The words seemed empty as he thought about the email he had received from his professor.

He had spent the better part of his week preparing for this presentation. He wasn’t sure what came over him today, it didn’t make sense. Nothing had even happened, and he had tanked the thing entirely.

_I had no choice but to give you a failing grade,_ the email had said.

He was clutching the counter and his knuckles were straining from the force of it. Mug, coffee. Two steps. He could do it. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t certain when he had shut them. He let go of the edge of the counter, violently flexing his hand.

He heard a crash.

_No. No. Nonononono_ , his mind chanted.

The mug was on the floor in pieces. Bossuet sank to his knees, bringing shaking hands towards the pieces. He gasped softly when his hand came in contact with the jagged edge of broken ceramic. The horror of destroying something beautiful that was made out of love was dawning on him and making his eyes sting with tears.

“Boss, I’m home!” Joly called from the front door.

He could hear doors shutting and opening, and the telltale sound of the tap running as Joly headed from the front door straight to the bathroom to wash up. He took a deep breath. Dimly, he realized that his hand was bleeding. Inhale, exhale. He could pull himself together before Joly found him like this. He made another attempt to pick the shards up.

“Boss?”

_Fuck._

“Bossuet?” Joly was right in front of him, if he reached out he could touch, “Baby, hey, look at me.”

His eyes were filling rapidly, and he kept his eyes steadfastly on the broken pile

“Where’s Chetta?” he managed, without allowing his voice to waver too much.

“Parking the car.”

Joly had stepped closer, “Bossuet, what happened?”

He shook his head quietly. The tears were falling and he did not want to look up, but Joly was taking his face in his hands with such gentleness it made his heart clench terribly in his chest.

He turned, pressing his cheek to Joly’s hand. Joly quietly guided his face to his chest, holding him against him with suprising strength.

“I broke R’s mug,” he muttered, miserably.

Joly made a sound of confusion, but he did not stop the movement of his fingers in his hair. Bossuet gave in, allowing the heaving sobs escape, careful to bunch his own pants in his hands so he wouldn’t get blood anywhere.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay, get it out.”

Bossuet heard the sound of the door and shuffling. He could smell Musichetta’s sweet perfume before he heard the unhappy gasp she made when she walked into the kitchen. Bossuet turned his face into Joly’s neck, melting completely when Musichetta rubbed a calloused hand against his neck and pressed a soft kiss into the crown of his head.

He pulled away from Joly with a sniffle, turning to catch Musichetta’s lips in a kiss.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, “Bad day.”

“Online school strikes again?” Joly ventured, his voice jovial enough to dispel the dark air that had settled in the room.

“Online school fucks over local neurodivergent,” he mutters.

Musichetta’s hands were still rubbing circles into his shoulder and neck, “I think now would be a good time to build a pillow fort.”

Joly nodded, standing and pulling Bossuet to his feet.

“Joly, can you get that ready while I help Boss get cleaned up?”

“Sure thing, love,” Joly leaned up to press a kiss to her cheek, followed quickly to one on Bossuet’s as well.

Musichetta’s hand was in his as she tugged him to the bathroom in their bedroom. He allowed her to gently tug his sweater off. He felt dazed.

She had taken one of his hands in hers, and was slowly, methodically wiping the blood off with a damp washcloth. It felt cold against his skin. She made quick work of it, leaning down to press he lips to the soft skin on the inside of his wrist before moving to the other hand.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Nothing too bad.” He hated shutting them out, but his mind felt dark and twisted taking the words dumb and stupid and failure were wrapping around him like a vice.

“Boss, hey, look at me,” her voice booked no room for argument, “The system failing to accommodate you is not a failure on your part, okay?”

He smiled. It was brittle, but it was there.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

She headed to the bedroom, returning with an old, worn hoodie that no one wanted to throw away because it made them all too nostalgic. It slipped over his head with ease.

When they headed back to the living room, the couch could no longer be seen. Joly stuck his face out from under the pile.

“I ran out of pillows, I improvised with blankets.”

“I love it,” Bossuet said, feeling the familiar clogging in his throat returning.

They slipped underneath. It was impossibly soft and Bossuet pressed his face against the nearest pillow. He wrapped his arms around Joly, pulling him into his lap and burying his head in his neck.

Musichetta set up the laptop. Bossuet had no idea what was playing, only that their talking voices were soft. They adjusted themselves until Bossuet had his back to Musichetta’s chest and sighed, content.

It was warm, the feeling of skin and softness surrounding him.

“You guys are too good to me,” he whispered.

Musichetta tightened her arms around them while Joly kissed his temple.

“You deserve it, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you liked this via kudos and comments!! <33


End file.
